


A Cure for Boring Wednesdays

by shilo1364



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, HP: EWE, I must not tell lies, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:04:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8706223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shilo1364/pseuds/shilo1364
Summary: It's been five years since the end of the war. Five years since Harry had last seen Malfoy when he testified at his trial. Five years of boring Wednesdays. And just as he thinks that he can't bear it any longer, Malfoy shows up and makes life interesting again.





	1. A Cure for Boring Wednesdays

What had started as another boring Wednesday at the Ministry - one of a long line of boring Wednesdays, sandwiched between an equally long line of boring Tuesdays and mind-numbingly boring Thursdays - took a turn for the interesting when Harry’s flustered secretary stormed into his office to curtly inform him that a Mister Malfoy was there to see him and that she didn’t get paid _nearly_ enough to deal with the man another minute.

Harry, startled, watched unseeing as the elaborate card tower crumbled in front of him and the secretary marched out, returned with Malfoy in tow, and then stalked off.

Harry hadn’t seen Malfoy since the trials. He’d kept tabs on him, of course. Quietly, after Hermione sighed “Oh, Harry,” one too many times and even Ron’s agreement that the git was probably up to something became tight-lipped and forced. Harry didn’t really think he was up to something either - Malfoy had been a model citizen, after the war. Had been an integral part of the cleanup and rebuilding, even. Harry just couldn’t seem to let it go.

And, now, five years later, here he was. In the flesh. In Harry’s bloody office. And he. Was. Gorgeous.

With a sinking feeling, and the clarity gained from confessing his sexuality to Ginny, Harry finally admitted it to himself. He didn’t want to know what Malfoy was up to. He never had. He _wanted_ him. Full stop.

“Potter,” Malfoy snapped, waving a pale hand in front of Harry’s face. “Potter! Have you finally lost what little wits you possessed?”

Harry jerked his gaze from Malfoy’s elegantly manicured fingernails to his familiar sneer, and groaned. Of course Malfoy only _looked_ like an angel. To his horror, seeing that familiar expression on Malfoy’s chiseled - no longer the least bit pointy - features only fueled the fire eating at his insides. It just wasn’t fair! With an effort, he firmed his jaw and forced his face into the indifferent mask he employed at Ministry functions.

“Malfoy. Why are you here?”

Malfoy’s sneer twisted his beautiful face into ugly lines, and Harry’s insides twisted with it. He squirmed a little in his seat, only half-listening as Malfoy launched into a complicated tale involving, as far as Harry could tell, muggles, breadsticks, and counterfeit umbrellas. He watched Malfoy’s lips move, letting the words roll over him without really sinking in, licking his own lips absently.

Malfoy broke off suddenly and stared at him suspiciously. “Potter. Are you even listening?”

“No,” Harry said without thinking, because he hadn’t been, and Umbridge’s spell still held him when he didn’t have the presence of mind to beat it into submission.

Malfoy stared. “Why not?” he asked, indignant, and it was clear he didn’t expect an answer, and equally clear that Harry wasn’t going to win this one either.

He waved the door shut, and suddenly the room felt too small, stifling. His cheeks burned with embarrassment as he said, defiantly, “Because you’re too bloody gorgeous for your own good and I can’t stand another minute, so either get over here and snog me or get the fuck out of my office!’

Malfoy stared for a long minute, utterly gobsmacked. Then a lazy smirk started playing along the edges of his too-red lips, and Harry was done for. He was out of his chair and standing in front of Malfoy before the thought had fully formed in his head, and he crowded into Malfoy’s space, catching hold of his smart muggle tie and tugging on it lightly.

“It can’t be legal to look that good,” he breathed, and Malfoy huffed out a laugh that turned into a moan as Harry applied more pressure.

“What are you going to do, Potter?” he smirked, “bring me in for questioning?”

Harry didn’t bother replying, just tugged again, pulling Malfoy’s face down to his own and kissing him harshly.

“Merlin, Potter,” Draco gasped, when they broke apart, panting, some time later. “If I’d known you wanted me like _that_ —“ He paused, eyes suddenly calculating. “How long _have_ you wanted me like that, Potter? Assuming this isn’t some sadistic Gryffindor plot to find out if I’m up to something.”

“It’s not,” Harry said, not even bothering to fight the compulsion. “And—“ he hesitated, but the spell nudged at him, and he sighed. “And for as long as I’ve known you, I think. I just didn’t realize it until recently.”

Malfoy stared, scandalized. “ _Potter_. You don’t just _admit_ something like that! Why would you…”

He trailed off as Harry rolled his eyes and thrust his hand under Malfoy’s nose.

“That’s why,” he said shortly.

Malfoy’s eyes widened, and he whistled softly as he took Harry’s hand between his own, turning it over and then tracing the letters carved into his skin with a delicate finger - _I must not tell lies_. His hands were warm. Harry had always thought they’d be cold, but, this close, Malfoy’s body radiated a surprising amount of heat. It was… nice.

He looked up, startled, when Malfoy raised his hand to his lips and kissed it gently, face flushing and grey eyes unreadable.

“Who did this to you?” he asked, and Harry stared at him, thrown off-balance by the steel in his voice.

“Er, Umbridge,” he said, frowning. Malfoy was skating the tips of his fingers lightly over Harry’s palm, and it was damn distracting. “I thought you knew.”

Malfoy breathed in sharply at that, and his fingers stilled. “I didn’t. Right. Come on, then.”

“Er, what? Where?”

“That slimy toad’s office,” Draco said grimly. “Where you are going to look disapproving and I am going to make her life hell until she removes that curse.”

Harry stared at him, feeling the blood drain out of his face. “It can’t be removed.”

Draco snorted, but his gaze was like ice. “Oh, it bloody well can. Now. Come on.” He turned and swept from the room.

Harry fell obediently into step behind Malfoy, taking a moment to appreciate the way the clean lines of his charcoal suit hugged his lithe body.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, pulling it into a wide - and likely a bit manic - grin. Harry’s feet felt lighter than they had in years as he realized that his life would very likely never be boring again.

 

 


	2. Umbridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was supposed to be a standalone one-shot but... *shrug.* Everybody kept clamoring at me to continue, so now it will be 3 chapters total. For reals this time. :-)

It took them a ridiculously long time to find Umbridge’s office. Though Harry knew she still worked at the Ministry, he’d spent the past five years assiduously avoiding her. The few times he’d glimpsed her - across the cafeteria, crossing the Ministry lobby after hours, skulking about the edges of one of the infernal holiday office parties - she’d shot him a knowing smirk and he’d turned hurriedly away to avoid the overwhelming temptation to hex her with something really nasty.

He’d only managed to avoid doing so by forcefully reminding himself that provoking her would only make him look petty, and that there was nothing to be done about the infernal compulsion. Even Hermione had concluded, after countless sleepless nights scouring every book she could find, that there was no way to remove it. So Harry had learned to force it back with the power of his will, much as he did with Imperius.

Only, if Malfoy were to be believed, there actually _was_ something that could be done. And as they made their way to her office, wending ever deeper into the bowels of the Ministry and alternately coaxing and threatening directions from the officious employees who stood in their way, Harry simmered with righteous anger, boiling hotter and closer to the surface the closer they got.

Malfoy stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm when they finally reached her door.

“Potter,” he said firmly, “perhaps you should wait out here.”

“What?” Harry stared at him. “Why?”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Because, _Potter_ , your magic is practically fizzing around us right now, and while I understand your frustration, it won’t help if you accidentally murder her before she can remove the curse.”

Harry deflated slightly, noticing the crackling along his nerves, suddenly, and the way Malfoy’s pale hair floated around his head in a frizzy cloud. “Oh.”

Malfoy studied him intently. “Can you control it? I think you need to be there, but I don’t fancy taking a loose cannon into what is essentially a diplomatic mission.”

Harry nodded. That made sense. He didn’t think he would trust _himself_ in a mission right now, and the fact that Malfoy both recognized this and was asking his opinion on his ability to hold it together said a lot. Malfoy trusted him. And, strangely enough, he trusted Malfoy. He swallowed, pushing some of the bubbling rage down, taking a deep breath and letting some of the tension bleed out of him.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I can control it. You’ll take the lead?”

Malfoy studied him for a moment, frowning slightly as his hair settled slowly back around his face, then his expression cleared and he nodded. “Come on, then,” he said, and wrenched open the door.

Dolores Umbridge’s office was - well, it was just like her office back at Hogwarts had been. Harry stared around, taking it all in: the pink, the lace, and, of course, the cats. They stared unblinking out at him from nearly every surface in the room.

“Why, Mister Malfoy! What a pleasant surprise! Oh, and Mister Potter, too! Goodness. What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

She looked the same, coiffed and curled and dressed head-to-toe in pink - but her hair was streaked with gray, her face was lined and sort-of-stretched, and she gave the overall impression of someone who had been very tired for a very long time. Harry wondered uncomfortably if perhaps he had misinterpreted those smirks.

Then she turned to look him up and down, and her face twisted into a nasty sneer, and Harry stopped feeling sorry for her because he _knew_ suddenly that she’d done it on purpose. She knew he’d been unable to find a way to remove the curse. But, more than that, _she_ knew how to remove it and she _hadn’t told him_.

Five years - _five fucking years!_ \- He’d worked here, in the same building, forced to sit behind a desk like some kind of fucking Auror department figurehead, sorting paperclips and going soft while his fellow Aurors mopped up Dark wizards because the curse made him a liability in the field. He’d nearly gotten several of his fellow Aurors killed, that first year - blown entire investigations because he couldn’t hold back the truth.

He was going to fucking kill her.

He lunged for her - or, tried to. Malfoy tapped his wand lightly against his thigh and whispered something so quietly Harry didn’t catch it, and his arms and legs locked stiffly in place and refused to budge. He couldn’t open his mouth, either, he found, when he tried to protest.

It seemed Malfoy meant for him to only watch. He glared daggers at Malfoy’s back, and relished the faint flush that crept up his neck, as if called from beneath his skin by the force of Harry’s stare.

Malfoy shot an apologetic smile over his shoulder, and Harry attempted to inject as much disapproval as possible into his scowl.

“As much as I’m enjoying your little… tableau,” Umbridge said suddenly, “I do have work to do. So, if you don’t mind…” She tipped her chin pointedly at the door. Malfoy ignored the obvious dismissal.

“Dolores,” he said, raising his hands placatingly, voice saccharine and practically oozing charm, “Potter and I have come to ask your help in a very important matter.”

“You have?” she asked, glaring suspiciously between them. “And what, pray tell, do you need _my_ help with?”

“This,” Malfoy said, grabbing Harry’s hand and thrusting it at her, turning it so the scarred words were clearly visible.

She blanched. “Oh. I - see.” She plastered a bright smile onto her face. “Well, I’m afraid I won’t be of any use to you boys, then. I have _no_ idea how one would go about removing the curse, and —“

Malfoy smiled, slow and lazy and predatory. “So you do agree that it _can_ be removed,” he drawled.

The remaining color drained from Umbridge’s face as she stared at Malfoy, hands twisting nervously. “Well, I, uh, no, no, of course not, I —“

Malfoy moved suddenly, fast as any snake. The left-most china cat portrait leaped off the wall and dashed itself to pieces on the floor. There was a horrible screeching yowl, and the china shards shivered and rearranged themselves, disgorging a wisp of pale… cat ghost?

“Snuggles!” Umbridge wailed, rushing to the shattered plate and kneeling beside it, “Oh, my poor, precious snuggles!”

Harry goggled as the cat-ghost tried to rub up against her hand. Malfoy watched, arms folded, as she turned slowly back to stare up at him, tears tracking down her face and eyes shining with betrayal.

“D-Draco,” she whispered, “How could you? You know —“

“I know what they are,” he interrupted her coldly, “and I don’t care. I will smash _all_ of them if you don’t remove that curse.”

Her eyes widened and she sniffled. “But… What _happened_ to you, Draco? You used to be such a sweet boy…”

Harry snorted. Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I grew up, Dolores,” he said, voice gentler. “Don’t you think it’s time you did too?”

She glared at him, whipping out her wand and jerking it in a complicated spiral, and Harry tried to jump in front of Malfoy. Auror instincts, he told himself firmly. That’s all it was. He hoped Malfoy hadn’t noticed - he still wasn’t able to really move much, so maybe…

But Malfoy’s eyes widened slightly, and his cheeks were stained suddenly with a delicate pink. He really was entirely too gorgeous, Harry thought, distracted, and then he shivered as a chill shot through him. He stared down at his hand as it went cold, then tingled and burned with a flash of blinding pain that slowed to a dull ache and then was gone. And… so were the words. The skin of his hand was smooth and unblemished.

“Get out of my office,” Umbridge said, face turned away from them. “I’ve done what you asked - now just leave me in peace.”

Malfoy studied her for a moment, still kneeling by the ruined plate and staring longingly at the slowly fading cat-ghost. “Goodbye Dolores,” he said gently, and then he turned, grabbed Harry’s hand, and dragged him out the door.


	3. Mind-Numbingly Boring Thursdays

“Malfoy,” Harry said hesitantly, as they walked silently down the hall, “What… what happened back there?”

Malfoy turned, giving him a sad smile. “Don’t ask. It’s - I only found out by accident, back when I was her pet student. It’s better you don’t know.” He looked up and saw Harry’s face, and said quickly, “It’s nothing bad. She’s just… She was mean and nasty, but she convinced herself she was doing the right thing, and she sacrificed everything to further her ideals. She doesn’t have much, now. She deserves to keep a few secrets, don’t you think?”

Harry frowned and looked down at his hand. Soft, unblemished. “Yeah,” he said, to test that it was gone. There wasn’t a whisper of compulsion, but… on closer examination, he found that it was the truth after all. Umbridge wasn’t the force of righteous evil he remembered from school. She was… broken, he decided. Clinging to the little dignity she retained because it was all she had left. Everything she’d fought for, worked for, sacrificed for - gone, in a blink. How could she stand it, he wondered, still working in the Ministry after everything, reduced to… to the shell of a woman they’d just seen…

“Race you back to your office?” Malfoy said suddenly, chasing all thoughts of Umbridge from Harry’s mind.

“What, now? Malfoy! We’re in the Ministry! It’s the middle of the day! People will see!”

“What, you’re afraid they’ll all see me beat you, is that it?”

“No that’s not it you bloody tosser!” Harry growled as Malfoy smirked at him. “Fine. On three. One. Two —“

“Three!” Malfoy shouted, and then took off running.

“Hey! Malfoy!” Harry ran after him, scowl morphing into a smile at the incredulous looks people shot them as they bolted past.

Malfoy beat Harry back to his office by a solid three seconds, and threw himself into Harry’s chair gleefully. “You’re getting slow, Potter!” he crowed.

Harry leaned against his desk, catching his breath, and grimaced. He _was_ getting slow. He’d been stuck behind that bloody desk so long he’d not realized it.

“So,” Malfoy asked, leaning back in Harry’s chair and propping his feet up on the desk, “What were you planning to do this afternoon. Before I showed up, I mean.”

Harry opened his mouth, then paused, savoring the delicious realization that he could say anything he liked - the compulsion was gone. Then Malfoy crossed his arms behind his head, causing the hem of his shirt to come untucked from his trousers, displaying a scandalous inch of smooth, pale skin. After a long moment, during which Harry’s mind was a complete and utter blank, he gulped, wrenching his thoughts away from what he wanted to do _now_.

“Well…” he hedged.

Malfoy smirked and indicated the cards still strewn across the desktop. “Building a castle, perhaps?”

Harry flushed and moved to perch on the corner of his desk, just out of Malfoy’s reach. “No. I’d already built five of them. I was actually considering re-organizing the paperclips.”

He indicated the proper drawer when Malfoy raised his eyebrow inquiringly. Malfoy gave the handle a quick tug, and the drawer slid smoothly out, revealing row after row of painstakingly sorted paperclips.

Malfoy snorted. “Do that often, do you?”

Harry nodded gloomily. “Unfortunately. I try to save it for Mind-Numbingly Boring Thursdays, but…” He shrugged, wordlessly gesturing to the cards.

Malfoy looked like he desperately wanted to laugh. “I… see. And, er, you get Mind-Numbingly Boring Thursdays often, do you?”

“Every. Week,” Harry said, with feeling.

Malfoy’s delighted laughter rang out merrily until Harry, growing impatient, abruptly silenced it with his mouth.

“Come with me, then,” Malfoy said, when they separated some time later. “Call in sick tomorrow. And I promise you that I’ll make your Thursday anything but mind-numbingly boring.”

“Only Thursday?” Harry asked, slightly breathlessly.

“ _Every_ Thursday,” Malfoy said. “The other days too, if you’ll have me.”

Harry grinned. He kissed Malfoy again, then tugged him through the door. He paused at his secretary’s desk, clearing his throat when she froze, eyeing their joined hands.

“Lilah,”

“Yes, Mister Potter?”

“Please inform Kingsley that I’m suddenly feeling quite unwell. I doubt I’ll be better tomorrow. In fact - “ He paused, as a thought struck him. “How much vacation do I have?”

“Er…” she tapped at her screen. “Five weeks. Give or take a day or two.”

“Brilliant. I’m taking it now.”

“What, _all_ of it?” She stared, horrified.

“Yes.” Harry tried desperately not to laugh as Malfoy sniggered next to him.

“Well - I really don’t - This is highly irregular!” she spluttered.

“Good day, Lilah!” Harry called cheerfully, as he tugged Draco down the hall to the lifts.

“Five weeks, eh?” Malfoy said, as they joined the queue for the public floo. “I’ll have to keep you busy. I’d hate to have you getting bored - my office supplies might not survive.”

~The End~ 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, and feel free to come say hi on [tumblr](https://whimsicaldragonette.tumblr.com/)


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